Congratulations
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: Marcus Flint congratulates Oliver Wood after his first winning game. SLASH Marcus/Oliver


**Congratulations**

It was the first game Gryffindor had won against Slytherin in so many years no one could recall the correct number except Quidditch geeks.

Oliver Wood was floating on a cloud made of sunshine and the perfume of fresh pastry. If asked why, he couldn't explain why his ecstasy had interpreted itself in such a way, but the point was he was so happy he actually kissed the small person responsible for the victory. Harry looked startled and turned bright red but didn't seem to hold a grudge against Oliver's exuberance.

The after-party was actually a party instead of an excuse to sit in glum silence on the sofas sipping butterbeer. The team was mobbed by friends and girls that never bothered to speak to them before. It was glorious, a teenage daydream come to life. Except that it started to get loud and hot and very crowded. Harry was crowded more than the rest of them, but the fan spill meant that he was coated in hangers-on as well.

His victory began to taste sour amidst the desperate smiles and throbbing disjointed sounds of the popular wizard music. He bore it as long as he could because he was the Captain and needed to set a good example, but finally the pressure broke through his sense of duty. He slipped out without anyone but Fred (or George) Weasley noticing, and a simple excuse that he needed the loo was enough to send them off the trail.

Alone in the halls, not quite past curfew yet, he let out a deep sigh. His good mood returned without the obnoxious behavior of his housemates, and there was a little spring in his step as he strolled down the hall, looking at the dozing paintings. A suit of armor nodded to him and he nodded back. As he wandered, he went over the game again in his mind's eye. With Harry to catch the snitch, the rest of the team was free to off-set the skills they trained so hard to master. Their last Seeker had been so awful that they couldn't help but look for the snitch too, if only to point it out to the poor bloke when they thought they saw it.

Bored of the hall and not wanting to go back yet, he took the stairs down to one of the many little courtyards. There was one planted with gardenias that were in bloom now. His mom wore perfume that smelled like gardenias. The scent made him smile. He wondered how she was, if she'd gotten the note he sent her for her birthday yet.

Something rustled in the bushes lining the far wall. He started and drew his wand like his dad always told him to. Marcus Flint emerged, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips.

Oliver turned to leave. He didn't want to deal with whatever Flint had to say to him. In the past it had been an elaborate dressing down of everything he did wrong on the pitch. Oliver didn't know what he would find to say to him this time, but he guessed it would be bitter and possibly end with Flint punching him in the face.

"Hey. Wood."

He kept walking, putting a little more speed into his movements. Not that he could outrun Flint if this did turn into a pursuit; Flint was stronger and had longer legs.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, Wood. Don't you walk away from me."

His steps actually faltered before he realized what he was doing. He walked still faster in defiance. Who was Flint to tell him what to do? He was the victor this time, not Flint. He wouldn't be pushed around or bullied or-

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. The hand spun him around. Flint grinned his crooked smile down at him, looking like part-shark. Oliver remembered that he used to wonder if Flint had vampire blood somewhere in his family tree. It would explain how Flint's mouth always looked slightly too full of teeth.

"Good job out there today. I'm impressed."

You could've knocked him over with a feather. "What did you say?"

"I said good job. Did you get hit in the head with a bludger? Going a little deaf, Wood?"

He tried to shrug off the hand but it stayed put. He started to feel afraid. He'd never been complimented by Flint before and didn't know what twisted trick the Slytherin was playing.

"No. What do you want, Flint?"

"I just wanted to say congratulations. I was a little worried that my boys were going to break that new Seeker of yours into pieces, but I see now that he can hold his own. Well played, Wood."

"Oh…" Oliver's childhood etiquette went into autopilot, "Thanks."

They stood there looking at each other in the hall. Flint's hand was still on his shoulder and Oliver could feel him flex his fingers every few seconds or so. Flint threw away his cigarette when it burned down to the filter, still holding Oliver there with the sheer force of his personality.

"I should go," Oliver said tentatively. He didn't know what to do with this new Flint. Flint smirked.

"Yeah, you should. But just let me do something first."

Oliver seized up, eyes squeezed shut. He didn't want to see the fist coming straight for his face.

Something warm touched his lips. It took him a moment to realize that Flint was kissing him. He must have been possessed by the devil, because he began to kiss back. Another hand came, this time to cup the back of his head and move him to a better angle that would accommodate both their noses. His head was starting to go a little fuzzy around the edges, and he noticed that he had, at some point, begun to grip the front of Flint's shirt.

Then it was over as suddenly as it began. Flint winked at him and disappeared back into the shrubbery, leaving the smell of smoke and aftershave.

Oliver numbly touched his lips, wondering if he'd imagined it.

~000~

End Congratulations

I've actually always wondered what the captains said to each other after Gryffindor's losing streak was reversed.


End file.
